Wearing the black-plumed helmet that designated him the Warlord in charge of the defending armies, Rabban sat straight in the saddle, gazing over the battlefield. He flexed his muscles, restless to get into the fight. But he would let the Grumman warriors take the brunt of the first impact. Then he could get down to business himself.
The Ecazi army moved first, leaving the swarms of landed frigates and shielded soldiers to embark on a ground assault across the dry and dusty expanse. The flat plain would define the parameters of the battlefield. Atreides soldiers followed them in a second wave.
Rabban had stationed half of his mounted troops on the rocky shore to stand guard. Behind him and up the slopes, impenetrable house shields enveloped the Viscount’s armed fortress. They were under strict orders to wait, to remain visible as defenders of Ritka, but not to move against the enemy army.
His horse was powerful and restless and continued to shift nervously. He touched the controls on the pommel, sending a jolt to the proper nerve center of the horse’s conditioned brain, forcing it to stand still. He had neither the time nor patience to become accustomed to his mount, so he needed to keep it under control. Nearby, Brom and the other lieutenants sat astride their own trained stallions.
Marching forward in ranks across the seabed, the Ecazi and Atreides soldiers wore body shields. Rabban pressed his thick lips together, contemplating tactics. A single soldier firing a lasgun into one of those shields would create a pseudo-atomic explosion powerful enough to vaporize the entire military force. But Rabban wouldn’t go that far, even if he could find a way to escape the detonation himself. Such tactics would invite far too many questions in the aftermath.
Since the shields on both sides made projectile weapons and explosives useless, as well as aerial attacks, this battle would seem almost medieval: sword against sword, personal combat won by skill and strength. Rabban could already imagine the resounding clamor.
As the front lines of Ecazi troops marched slowly toward Ritka, he grew impatient and clenched his fists. The Viscount had ordered him to wait, specifically forbidding him to send his troops into battle. Until when? No one had told him. Rabban made a disgusted noise. It seemed foolish to ignore such a prime opportunity. Why waste so much time and let them grow closer, unchallenged? “Our troops could engage them out there right now! Is this a battle, or isn’t it?”
Before a command could leave Rabban’s mouth, though, Brom said in a deep warning voice, “Wait for the right moment. Not yet.”
“But this is insanity. What is the right moment? Look at them!”
“The Viscount knows his plan. It is not a warrior’s business to understand his master, but simply to obey and wait for the signal.”
Rabban ground his teeth together, remembering quite clearly that this unpredictable Moritani lord was not his master.
He heard loud horns, shrill whistles, and a startling clamor of metal on metal, even the sharp reports of small explosions. Brom gestured toward the expansive canvas-roofed corrals and stables that held Moritani’s prized Genga stallions. Driven ahead by screaming warriors, the monster horses flowed out of their corrals, hundreds upon hundreds of angry wild beasts armed with spikes and sharp razors. The unleashed stallions swept around the low hills, then surged in a wild, unstoppable mass across the dry plain directly toward the oncoming enemy army. The whooping, goading warriors wheeled away and retreated to the stables, letting the stallions continue their stampede.
Rabban had not expected that at all. He chuckled and looked over at Brom. “Yes, now I’m glad that we waited.”
WHEN THE ATREIDES troops followed the Ecazi army in the forward march, Paul carried his own sword as well as a dagger. He walked between Duncan and Gurney, both of whom seemed to be overprotective. After fighting off the assassin-trackers on Caladan, the young man had insisted upon participating on the battlefield, despite his father’s clear uneasiness.
Leto had said, “If you are to be a Duke someday, Paul, you must learn how to
“But I am not a Duke yet, Father,” Paul had replied. “As you’ve always said, before I have the right to make decisions involving the lives of the men, I must understand what they go through. This fight is more about honor than glory or conquest. Isn’t that what House Atreides is all about?”
Leto had been forced to concede with a thin smile. “If I didn’t believe that, I would never have considered letting you come to Grumman in the first place. All right, but Duncan and Gurney are not to let you out of their sight.”
Paul knew he was as good a fighter as almost any soldier in the House Atreides forces, and the other two men vouched for him. He did not doubt, though, that his father would be monitoring him closely from the command ship.
Now they marched across the virgin battlefield, following in many trampled footsteps and so far to the rear of the shielded troops that Paul doubted he would ever see any direct combat.
Nevertheless, when the raging wall of riderless horses hurtled into the armies like an unexpected sea squall, the resulting confusion and turmoil made it seem as if the battle had turned into a rout.
Waving his sword, Gurney bellowed, “Stand firm!”
Duncan pressed closer to Paul, ready to use his new sword. “This is lunacy — running horses can’t penetrate our shields!”
Paul quickly realized the true objective. “No, but they’re confusing our ranks, breaking our momentum.”
The neatly organized battle lines were suddenly scrambled. Hundreds of stallions, their hooves knifing down, careened into soldiers, knocking them over inside their protective shields. The dust thrown into the air by the thunderous stampede made it impossible to see. Static sparkles outlined the coverage area of Paul’s shield.
“Paul, stay close!” Gurney called over the tumult.
A wild-eyed horse, mottled brown-and-white, reared up before Paul. The boy ducked sideways as the sharp hooves came down and skittered harmlessly off the shield. One of the metal spines of the war horse’s armor managed to slide partly through the barrier, so that Paul had to twist away to avoid being impaled. Next to him, Duncan was trying to hold fast.
More horses crashed against shields, and many soldiers panicked at the sight of the monsters coming at them. They struck out with their blades, slashing at the horses, killing some, wounding others. Maddened by the cuts, the stallions went wild, crashing into each other, inflicting further injuries with their war spikes.
Paul remained crouched, not certain how to fight against such a force. A number of the warhorses actually broke through shields, penetrating the soldiers’ defenses and killing them. Some of the troops shouted for their commanders and tried to stand together, but the well-trained units had been disrupted into a disorganized mass. Few could hear the orders of the commanders over the uproar.
The stampede seemed to last forever, though the maddened horses were not guided; they’d simply been turned loose on the armies of Ecaz and Atreides. Dozens of the stallions were killed before the wall of wild horses passed.
Gurney began yelling at the top of his lungs, trying to impose order. “Atreides, Atreides to me! Form ranks!”
Paul could barely see through the billowing dust the stallions had stirred up on the dry plain. He felt certain that this was not the only trick Viscount Moritani would unleash upon them.
FROM HIS VANTAGE point, Rabban watched the mayhem with smug pleasure plain on his face. The enemy forces were in complete disarray from the hundreds of armored horses that had plowed through their ranks. He knew what to do next. This must be why the Viscount had told him to wait.
Now it was his turn to take charge. “I’m sending forth our armies to attack before they can re-form ranks.”
Brom glared at him. “The Viscount ordered us to wait for his signal.”
